


Truth and Lies

by socknonny



Series: The Spaces In Between [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship, Talking, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 05:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15236652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/socknonny/pseuds/socknonny
Summary: Billy finds a way to share without being vulnerable. Steve realizes he wants to be vulnerable after all.





	Truth and Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying to find a way to continue the vibe of anonymous epistolary fic without it being epistolary... since they both know who each other is now. I might have found one? I actually thought of a DIFFERENT way first, but it was too soon for that, so that will be in the next fic. 
> 
> Huge shout out to the affectionate disappointment on my SO's face when I asked how much he could bench and then converted it from kg to pounds so that I could use it for Billy... His resigned expression gives me life

The train track stretched before them, dark and overgrown and covered with leaves. Billy had fallen silent, contemplative, his mouth moving only when he brought his cigarette to his lips. The smoke joined the fog of their breath in the frosty air until Steve could no longer tell one from the other, until the air was just a little bit white wherever he looked.

It made Steve feel a little removed from the world around him, a little lost, but he liked the feeling. Liked the way there were two sets of footsteps breaking the silence. Liked the warmth of Billy’s arm as it brushed against his, as if they were the only two people in a forest that stretched onward forever.

They'd been walking for ages. It was something they did these days, when the noise of the town became too much and the quarry had been taken over by loud drunks. Steve could recall a time when he thought Billy was nothing more than a loud drunk, and while he certainly was that, he was also…  _ this.  _

Billy took a final drag and then flicked the cigarette forward, grinding it beneath his boot on the next step without even pausing. He breathed in the fresh air, long and deep, eyes bright with something unidentifiable.

Steve realized he was staring. 

“You ready for finals?” he asked, turning back to the front. 

His eyes scanned the forest even as he spoke, constantly on alert, waiting for some sign of danger. If it hadn’t been Billy who’d started their new habit, Steve would have accused himself of deliberately patrolling the town. 

“Yeah,” Billy drawled, unhurried. He always seemed so much calmer when they were out here walking, even if his boots and denim jacket seemed painfully out of place. “You?”

Steve shrugged. “I guess.”

He shifted, wondering if that was the end of the conversation. They never seemed to talk much, not like they had in their letters. And yet, they kept coming back. Both of them. Either Steve would find a note in his locker, telling him to meet down at the tracks, or Steve would seek out Billy somewhere in the halls and give him a  _ look _ . No matter how it happened, they ended up here, walking side by side, their presence speaking volumes while they remained silent.

There was an unusual comfort in their wordless conversations, the way Steve felt more accepted, more real, than he did anywhere else, even when they hardly said a word. But still… he wanted more. He wanted to open up again like they both had in those few terrifying notes. He just didn’t know how to ask for it.

It was one thing to rely on the safety of an anonymous note; another altogether to speak openly to someone’s face. 

Suddenly, Steve realized he was walking alone. He turned around and saw the Billy had stopped and was just staring into the trees. 

“What’s up?” Instantly, his nerves were on edge. He scanned the forest for signs of danger but couldn’t see anything.

“Nothing,” Billy said slowly. Then he shook his head and turned to Steve, eyes blazing. “I wrote you another letter. But it’s… you gotta guess.”

“I’ve got to guess what?”

Slowly, Billy’s lips pulled back into a smile. “Guess which one’s real.”

He pulled his hand out of his jeans pocket, a slip of paper tucked between his index and middle finger, and held it out in front of him.

Steve stared at the paper, then back at Billy. Billy’s shoulders were tense; he was standing confidently, but it was rigid and forced. Like he might bolt at any second.

The few times they’d met up like this, they never mentioned the letters. Steve’s heart was thudding in his chest, but he crossed the few feet separating them and took the paper.

_ I bench 170 pounds. _

_ My dad thinks I’m a failure.  _

_ I miss the California sun. _

What the hell? He looked up at Billy, but he wouldn’t meet Steve’s eyes. Slowly, it hit him, bringing with it a creeping sort of warmth as it did. Billy had found a way to keep the safety of their anonymity. Okay, so they knew who they were talking to now, but the words, the meaning—that was hidden. 

Which statement was real? First instinct screamed the middle one, because that was the kind of thing the two of them shared, wasn’t it? It matched what their first notes had said. But Steve didn’t think that was it.

Steve wandered over to the side of the tracks, still studying the note, and lowered himself onto the ground. 

“What are you doing, man?” Billy kicked the dirt with his shoe, looking more and more like he was about to run. “It’s just a dumb note. You don’t need to sit down or anything.”

“No, no; this deserves proper contemplation.” Steve settled against the tree.

After a moment, he looked back to Billy and studied his arms.

Billy huffed a laugh. “Checkin’ me out, Harrington?” He dropped his jacket off one arm, pulled up his sleeve, and flexed. “Like what you see?” 

Steve snorted and turned back to the paper. “I reckon you bench more than one seventy.”

Billy grinned, a flash of youthful pride crossing his face. “One ninety,” he admitted. 

“I want to say the middle one is the true one,” Steve said slowly, “but I don’t know…”

A stillness came over them; the birds seemed to quieten down as Billy watched him. His face gave nothing away, but Steve suddenly knew he was right. 

“I think it’s a red herring,” he said, the words coming louder than he meant them to and making them both jump. “I think the sun one is the real one. You miss the California sun; that means something to you.”

The leaves crunched loudly in the clearing as Billy walked over and sat beside him. Steve could feel the rise and fall of Billy’s chest as he took a steady breath.

“My dad doesn’t think I’m a failure,” Billy said, staring ahead into the emptiness of the trees. “He never thought I’d amount to anything in the first place. Kind of hard to fail when you don’t even make it to the starting line.” He tipped his head back against the tree and slid a glance sideways, meeting Steve’s eyes for the first time since he’d handed over the note. “And yeah, I miss the California sun. It’s different to the sun here. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Steve stared at him. There was something in his eyes, some sense of relief or openness that hadn’t been there before. It was as if Steve had passed a test he hadn’t known he was taking. It was a rare feeling for him. 

“Different how?”

Billy shrugged. “Warmer, softer. When the sun comes up in California, it’s like it lights up the whole goddamn world. You get out of bed and you just  _ drive _ . Doesn’t matter where you go, there’ll be something worth getting to. The sun here… it comes up and it hits the back wall of my bedroom, and all I can see is chipped paint and stains. That’s all I can see, all day.”

His voice had become quieter the longer he spoke, and it occurred to Steve that he’d never heard Billy speak for so long without breaking off into a joke or an insult. It would have been easy to think the thing about his dad was the important one, but even when Billy had admitted the truth of it, it was just a side note. It was a sad fact of Billy’s life, but it didn’t have real meaning. The meaning lay in and around the Californian sun. 

“It’s your turn now,” Billy said suddenly, his usual grin returning to his face as he ran his tongue across his lips. “You got a pen, pretty boy?”

Steve shook his head to clear his thoughts and began scrambling around for a pen. He found a stub of a pencil in his back pocket and turned the paper over, pausing as he considered what to write.

Eventually, making sure that Billy wasn’t watching, he wrote three things:

_ My house is too big.  _

_ My dad forgets my name. _

_ I’m scared of the dark. _

Wordlessly, he handed Billy the paper. Some time in the last few minutes, Billy had lit another cigarette, and as he scanned the three short sentences on the page, he passed the cigarette to Steve without looking. Steve took it and tried not to think about the tiny jolt of electricity that seemed to pass between them as their fingertips brushed. He was only making it up, after all.

“Very interesting, Harrington,” he finally drawled. “This isn’t easy.”

Steve smiled, his heart racing so fast he could feel it beating in his throat. He took a drag for something to do.

“I’ve seen your house,” Billy said slowly. “It’s definitely too big, but I dunno, man… sometimes you get this look in your eye.” He glanced up at Steve and passed his hand across his own face, widening his eyes. “Like it’s suddenly too small.” He shook his head and turned back to the paper. “So I don’t think it’s that one.”

He read the next line and snorted. “Your dad can’t forget your name.”

Something in Steve’s chest squeezed tightly, but he said nothing. Maybe Billy had missed the meaning.

“Which means…” Billy continued. “You’re afraid of the dark.” The words sounded like a question, and his face contorted into displeasure. “No… No it’s not that. No one’s afraid of the dark. You’re afraid of what the dark hides. You’re afraid  _ in  _ the dark, not  _ of  _ the dark.”

When Billy looked up, Steve almost couldn’t breathe. He was right; he was completely right. Steve had barely even paid attention to what he wrote, barely thought about how he was testing Billy and what the right answer even was, but Billy had passed. He’d searched for a meaning that even Steve had barely known was there. 

Steve didn’t know what was stranger—that he’d found it or that he’d cared enough to search for it at all.

“Which means your dad forgets your name?” Billy’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “What does that mean?”

Steve shrugged. “Means he forgets my name.”

“Nah he doesn’t.” Billy shook his head slowly. “There’s something you’re not saying.”

“Okay.” Steve’s throat felt suddenly tighter than before, like something was blocking the words, but he forced them out anyway. “You know that way people speak when they’re not listening to what they’re saying? The way the teacher just yells out Tommy’s name when he’s being a little shit, and you can tell it’s just become routine for her? That Tommy’s name is just another word that belongs in part of her… I dunno… her  _ stash  _ of words she uses to tell people off? It doesn’t really mean Tommy anymore, doesn’t belong to him.”

Billy nodded, never once looking away from Steve’s face. Steve fought to calm his racing heart, but the eyes were too blue, too piercing. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

“Well, that’s how he sounds when he says my name. Except it’s not even an angry word, it’s just a word… just part of the furniture. Like he says my name because that’s one of the things he has to say when he’s in that house—sound off, role call, make sure all the possessions are still in tact. He doesn’t remember what it means anymore. I’m probably not making sense.”

The meaning wasn’t exactly in the words. It was in how the first and last sentences Steve had written were lies, in how the middle one was truth.

“You’re making perfect sense.” Billy reached out and took the cigarette, taking a long pull and blowing the smoke between them. 

He meant it. He actually meant it. Now Steve knew how Billy had felt, what that look had meant. Billy had seen through the bullshit where no one else had. God it felt good; it felt so fucking good. 

He realized he was smiling—really, truly smiling—only when Billy’s expression faltered, his face collapsing for the briefest second into uncertainty. Then his lips twitched and he was grinning back at Steve like they’d known each other forever. 

Steve wasn’t sure he’d ever known anyone the way he was getting to know Billy.

Steve threaded his fingers through his hair, tipping his head back so that the last rays of the setting sun warmed his face. They would need to head back soon, but they had a few minutes more. Enough to share one more thing.

He could write it down and keep up the tentative distance they both found so comforting. Billy had found a way to make that work, had found a way to make sure they only shared things that the other person already understood, or cared enough to try to understand. 

Or he could just say it. 

“So, I  _ am  _ afraid in the dark.”

“Yeah?” Billy’s eyes cut to his once more, and he waited. 

“Yeah.” Steve took a deep breath, and then he began to talk. 

**Author's Note:**

> I think my spellings are all over the place lol. I'm Australian but I try to use American spelling for ST fic. Sorry! Thanks for reading!! <3


End file.
